bouncing o the
wal s of the foyer, l ing the entire house.
Timothy crouched into a bal and covered his
head to try to block it out.
Suddenly, a siren screamed. He fel against
the wooden bench. Timothy looked at the
receiver in his hand. A busy signal blared at
him through the holes in the plastic. Then a
tinny female voice shouted, “If you’d like to
make a cal , please hang up and try again. If
you need help, please dial—”
A door slammed. Timothy dropped the
phone and glanced upstairs. “H-hel o?” he
cal ed. No one answered. Dizzy with fear,
Timothy stood, replaced the phone on the
cradle, and listened to the house’s
overwhelming silence.
Outside, an engine sput ered. His bus was
turning up Beech Nut Street. Timothy opened
the front door and ran to catch it.
23.
A stranger sat behind Mr. Crane’s desk—a
substitute. Mr. Crane was out sick.
Timothy snuck to his seat in the back of the
classroom. The rest of the students slowly
began to trickle in. Moments later, when the
class was nearly ful , a new girl with short
black hair appeared in the doorway. No one
seemed to notice her. She gave him the
smal est, most hidden smile he’d ever
witnessed. It was their secret now, one of many.
The bel rang, and the substitute teacher
stood up and read from a piece of paper.
“Please move to be with your partner, and
work on your project.”
Timothy got up and sat down in the desk
next to Abigail. “What’s wrong?” she said. “You
look a lit le odd.”
“I wonder where Mr. Crane is.” He was stil
“I wonder where Mr. Crane is.” He was stil
trying to recover from his frightful phone cal .
He kept remembering the sound of his
brother’s laughter.
“After you left last night,” she said, shaking
her head, “al hel broke loose at my house.”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandmother got real y upset that we
had been asking her about that book her uncle
wrote. She said she doesn’t want me to hang
out with you anymore.”
Timothy’s face burned. “She doesn’t like
me?”
“It’s not that. I think she’s trying to protect us
from something.”
“From what?”
“She didn’t tel me.”
“If we knew the truth,” he said, “we would
know what we’re up against.”
“To be fair, we didn’t tel her the truth
either.”
“Yeah, but …” Timothy thought about that. It
“Yeah, but …” Timothy thought about that. It
would be impossible to explain the events of
this week to anyone who hadn’t experienced
them too. “But should we? Your grandmother is
obviously keeping a secret. Maybe we should
tel her ours.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. If she
wasn’t so weird about the whole thing …”
Abigail stared at her desk. “I slept on the couch
in the living room, if sleeping is what you want
to cal it. I waited al night for those girls to
show up. They didn’t, thank God. Maybe my
disguise worked.”
“I almost forgot! You’l never believe what
else I saw … or maybe you wil at this point,
actual y.” Timothy nal y told her about the
man he’d seen leaving her apartment building.
Abigail nearly fel out of her chair. “Why
didn’t you cal me?”
Timothy explained what had happened when
he’d got en home—about Ben’s transport to
Maryland and Mr. Crane’s cal . “I sort of forgot
about everything else,” he added. “Sorry.”
about everything else,” he added. “Sorry.”
Final y, he told her about Ben’s phone cal that
morning.
“Are you sure it was him?” said Abigail, the
color draining from her face.
“It sounded like him. Maybe someone’s trying
to screw with us?”
“But who?” she said.
Timothy was about to suggest that the cal
might have been from Abigail’s Nightmarys, but
she continued, “And who was the guy you saw
at my building? Was he real? Do you think it
was your shadow man?”
“Could’ve been anybody, I guess. Have you
seen anyone like that
wal s of the foyer, l ing the entire house.
Timothy crouched into a bal and covered his
head to try to block it out.
Suddenly, a siren screamed. He fel against
the wooden bench. Timothy looked at the
receiver in his hand. A busy signal blared at
him through the holes in the plastic. Then a
tinny female voice shouted, “If you’d like to
make a cal , please hang up and try again. If
you need help, please dial—”
A door slammed. Timothy dropped the
phone and glanced upstairs. “H-hel o?” he
cal ed. No one answered. Dizzy with fear,
Timothy stood, replaced the phone on the
cradle, and listened to the house’s
overwhelming silence.
Outside, an engine sput ered. His bus was
turning up Beech Nut Street. Timothy opened
the front door and ran to catch it.
23.
A stranger sat behind Mr. Crane’s desk—a
substitute. Mr. Crane was out sick.
Timothy snuck to his seat in the back of the
classroom. The rest of the students slowly
began to trickle in. Moments later, when the
class was nearly ful , a new girl with short
black hair appeared in the doorway. No one
seemed to notice her. She gave him the
smal est, most hidden smile he’d ever
witnessed. It was their secret now, one of many.
The bel rang, and the substitute teacher
stood up and read from a piece of paper.
“Please move to be with your partner, and
work on your project.”
Timothy got up and sat down in the desk
next to Abigail. “What’s wrong?” she said. “You
look a lit le odd.”
“I wonder where Mr. Crane is.” He was stil
“I wonder where Mr. Crane is.” He was stil
trying to recover from his frightful phone cal .
He kept remembering the sound of his
brother’s laughter.
“After you left last night,” she said, shaking
her head, “al hel broke loose at my house.”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandmother got real y upset that we
had been asking her about that book her uncle
wrote. She said she doesn’t want me to hang
out with you anymore.”
Timothy’s face burned. “She doesn’t like
me?”
“It’s not that. I think she’s trying to protect us
from something.”
“From what?”
“She didn’t tel me.”
“If we knew the truth,” he said, “we would
know what we’re up against.”
“To be fair, we didn’t tel her the truth
either.”
“Yeah, but …” Timothy thought about that. It
“Yeah, but …” Timothy thought about that. It
would be impossible to explain the events of
this week to anyone who hadn’t experienced
them too. “But should we? Your grandmother is
obviously keeping a secret. Maybe we should
tel her ours.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. If she
wasn’t so weird about the whole thing …”
Abigail stared at her desk. “I slept on the couch
in the living room, if sleeping is what you want
to cal it. I waited al night for those girls to
show up. They didn’t, thank God. Maybe my
disguise worked.”
“I almost forgot! You’l never believe what
else I saw … or maybe you wil at this point,
actual y.” Timothy nal y told her about the
man he’d seen leaving her apartment building.
Abigail nearly fel out of her chair. “Why
didn’t you cal me?”
Timothy explained what had happened when
he’d got en home—about Ben’s transport to
Maryland and Mr. Crane’s cal . “I sort of forgot
about everything else,” he added. “Sorry.”
about everything else,” he added. “Sorry.”
Final y, he told her about Ben’s phone cal that
morning.
“Are you sure it was him?” said Abigail, the
color draining from her face.
“It sounded like him. Maybe someone’s trying
to screw with us?”
“But who?” she said.
Timothy was about to suggest that the cal
might have been from Abigail’s Nightmarys, but
she continued, “And who was the guy you saw
at my building? Was he real? Do you think it
was your shadow man?”
“Could’ve been anybody, I guess. Have you
seen anyone like that
Similar Books
